thinking

to write the way I think, or to even speak it, no less, would be a chore thoughts go by unspoken, never to be revealed, left in the dark of my mind they remain bottled up, pent inside, refusing to escape, for they cannot be explained swirling beneath the surface, every emotion and beat, like ocean waves in one’s veins if I were to talk of them aloud, sentences alone could not suffice, measly combinations of words phrases that would do nothing but convey them in such a sense that they feel insignificant